September
by Stephane Richer
Summary: so we made our way by finding what was real


September

Disclaimer: I don't own Daughtry's "September" or Fujimaki Tadatoshi's _Kuroko no Basuke_.

* * *

He's filling out job applications on the sofa, writing and rewriting his name, address, city, state, zip, social security, yes, no, yes, no, phone number, e-mail address, and the monotony is killing him. He hears the once-confident, now slightly tentative footsteps behind him.

"I made tea." She hands him a mug and manages not to trip over the coffee table this time. Either she can see it now or she remembers it's there, but whichever way she's using she still ends up beside him without falling.

The tea is good. It's peppermint, his favorite flavor. He's always rearranging the teas without thinking, considering, although it seems this may be one of her better days if she can pick out this box from the next.

"It's the white box," she says, reading his thoughts. "It's bright, and it's the only one."

Ah. They sit in silence, as she sips her own cup and he finishes signing the applications.

"My spring break is coming soon. Next week."

"Hmm." She touches his arm.

"Do you want to go to New York?"

"Of course! I've only been there a few times for work, and I never got to stay long enough to do everything I wanted."

"Good. We're going."

* * *

The airport is always tough, always draining, even more so when you're taking your legally blind roommate/best friend/crush along with you. Still, they navigate through and their flight across the country leaves on time.

Alex sleeps the whole plane ride, leaning against Tatsuya's shoulder with that smile on her face that only happens on a good vision day or when they're out late in the park, so late he can see about as well as she can in regular light, playing HORSE just like the old days. The look she got when she was playing basketball.

He's never been to this city, only heard about it second hand, but what he did hear is that every part is visually stunning in a different way. It's only a matter of time before she's completely blind, and there's so much left to see. It's something she'd probably only consider in her dreams, considering the price of flights and hotels (he's dipped farther into his savings account than he'll ever admit) and how all of her money goes straight to medical care.

But he wants to do something for her, even if she'll never see him as more than a kid, even if she'll never love him the way he loves her, even if it just repays ten percent of what she's taught him and given him and meant to him. Right now, this is all he can think of.

* * *

They go to a Knicks game; he's bought seats resold online for a fraction of the price. She can't see the numbers or the names on the back of the jerseys, but she can tell the positioning, and some of the older players she can pick out by the way they move and play. She's spent her whole life devoted to basketball, he realizes. Kind of the way he has, where in the end it won't matter. She won't be able to see even the orange blur ricochet off the black rim and then bounce off of someone's fingertips. She hasn't been able to really play for a decade, maybe more. He hasn't been able to play, full-out, since…when? The self-doubt didn't hit him in the face one day, slowly crept up until it was like it was always there, but he does remember a time before he doubted himself, where he just wanted to be like Alex, or like Shaq or even like Michael Jordan, before he was afraid to dream too hard.

The next day they go shopping on the east side, stare unashamedly upward at the skyscrapers and the fog rolling in and immersing the tops in clouds, walk by the UN building and try to name all the flags. They're exhausted and they decide to just get on the nearest subway and see what happens. Soon enough, it comes out from underground and they're the ones in the fog. They can't see anything that's around them, and Tatsuya wonders if this is what it's like every day for her. It's a weird, surreal experience, and she grabs him and pulls him out of the doors at the first stop outside.

It's quiet. There's a fast-food restaurant, a park, apartment buildings, a baseball stadium. And overhead, a train rumbles by in the opposite direction, barely visible through the fog. They walk parallel to the stadium; she grabs his hand. They keep walking, unsure of where exactly they're going, and up ahead looms a bridge.

"Should we cross the bridge?" he says.

"We're already lost." She smiles. "And besides, we can always hail a cab or something."

The fog on the bridge is even thicker, and he has to will himself not to look down at the water below. (Which river is this?) A squirrel skitters across the walkway. She clutches his arm in both of hers.

"Tatsuya?"

"Yeah?" He glances down. It's weird, being taller than she is. He still hasn't gotten used to it.

"Maybe this isn't the time to tell you this?" She squints up into his one visible eye from behind the thick glasses that don't help her much at all. Disentangling one arm from him, she reaches up and brushes his bangs back behind his ear.

"No, no, now is as good as any." What is it? Has she finally completely lost her vision?

"Tatsuya…I'm in love with you."

Time stops. This is an odd time. This is an incredibly odd time. If she thinks she's in love with him now, then…what just happened to make it so? Why not before? And he's never seen her look so embarrassed.

"How…long?"

"Since…I don't know. Maybe since I went to Japan, but I don't think I realized it until just now. I'm sorry. I don't want—"

His lips crash down on hers. There will be time for explanations later, for figuring things out. He's normally not impulsive, but time is of the essence now so fuck all of that. She kisses him back in a way he never realized she could kiss (she's kissed him dozens, maybe hundreds of times before, mostly chaste and sometimes a bit teasing), deep and fiery and sweet.

* * *

They can't keep their hands off of one another for the rest of the day, trying to make up for years and years of lost time.

"Let me see all of you." While I still can, is left unspoken, and he complies. She's still got jeans and a t-shirt on, not that he really notices the way she's looking at him. She's moving her eyes all over his body, close up, memorizing every little detail, licking and kissing and biting as she goes, and oh god he's never been this hot and bothered before. He's whining and begging and squealing, and he feels almost like the ultimate anti-manly until suddenly she's naked, too (how does she remove clothes so quickly?) and on top of him and oh god yes.

She's better than he ever imagined she could be, even with all these years of buildup.

* * *

He graduates college with honors, and that night he takes her out to dinner (despite her protests that he's the graduate and she should be treating him) and asks if they can make this permanent. It's not a marriage proposal (neither of them has the least idea how to do weddings or children or anything like that, or any desire to even approach any of it, and they've only been together like this for a few months). It's his roundabout way of saying, "I've realized living with you these past four years that I can't live without you" and "I've loved you for most of my life and I always will so please don't go" and she knows how to read between the lines.

"Yes."


End file.
